Baby
by Lex
Summary: House, Chase, and a strange slice of Wilson


**Baby**

House had always held a sort of fascination for Wilson. The complexity, the intricate twists and turns, of his best friend's character provided an endless source of musing for the oncologist, kept him forever formulating new theories to explain House's behavior, to explain House himself. Wilson spent so much time trying to get into the older man's mind that, after learning of House's ongoing romantic relationship with Chase, it was only natural that Wilson's view of the young Australian began to change. It was only natural that Wilson began to see Chase through House's eyes.

IN THE CAB

In the back seat of the taxi, pressed against the door, Wilson gazed blurrily at Chase. He, House and Chase had been out for a night of heavy drinking – well, the heaviest drinking had been on his own part, Wilson was forced to admit. It was always hard to tell just how drunk House was, and Chase (Wilson, squinting, peered more closely at the boy's face) appeared completely sober. Sober … and very good-looking. This last impression had been creeping insidiously into Wilson's brain ever since he'd found out that House and Chase were together, and now, as Chase, conscious of Wilson's stare, turned away from House and faced him, the point was driven home.

"The kid's a knockout," pronounced Wilson, his voice slurring.

"What?" said House.

Wilson smiled, rather dreamily, and reached to run his hand through Chase's blond hair. "So soft …"

Chase looked embarrassed, but House frowned. "Wilson …" he said warningly.

"No, House, it's just that you were right!" Wilson gave an enthusiastic smile, convinced, in his drunken state, that House would be pleased at Wilson's concurrence with his assessment of Chase. "I mean, look at this face …" Caressingly, Wilson's fingers lightly traced Chase's jaw line; then he ran his thumb slowly over Chase's bottom lip. "And his mouth – you're always talking about this pretty mouth …" Wilson was mesmerized; he didn't even notice the intensivist's growing uneasiness or his best friend's fierce scowl.

"Wilson, what the FUCK?" growled a pissed-off House, and knocked the oncologist's hand away from Chase.

Wilson paid no attention. As if in a daze, he took Chase's chin in his fingers and turned the blonde's face toward his own, so, intoxicated, he could look directly into the blue-green eyes which had such a hold on his best friend. It might have been the whiskey, it might have been the proximity to such beauty, or it might have been that Wilson had finally found his way into House's mind; Wilson wasn't sure, and didn't care.

"Chase … my baby," Wilson breathed, and then he kissed him. (Wilson was vaguely aware that Chase was trying to twist away, half-laughing as he protested: "Whoa there, Wilson …" but, Jesus, it was so good, so sexy …) Wilson brought his other hand to Chase's crotch, pushed down, felt the outline of Chase's cock through his khakis. "Baby," he said again.

"Knock it off, Wilson – KNOCK IT OFF!" House reached across Chase and furiously pushed Wilson away from his lover. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

3 MONTHS AGO

Wilson had dropped by House's apartment on the spur of the moment, hoping to enjoy an impromptu game of cards, listen to some good music, and have a few beers with his friend. He was surprised to find Chase already there, looking comfortable in a soft cotton t-shirt, worn jeans, and barefoot, but thought no more about it once the card game got underway. They played for hours. House won, of course, but Wilson didn't do too badly. Chase, on the other hand, was hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. The poor kid sank lower and lower in his chair as he lost game after game, blonde bangs continuously flopping into his eyes, and Chase continuously raking them back impatiently, his accent becoming more pronounced as his frustration level rose. He fidgeted, bit his lip, glared darkly at the relentless teasing from both House and Wilson, and finally gave up.

"That's it for me."

"Daddy's money run out?" queried House innocently.

"Very funny." Chase stared balefully at House.

"Aww, our wittle wombat gets cranky when he loses," House said to Wilson.

"This is great." Wilson nudged House. "With your winnings, you should be able to buy your own lunch for the next month, instead of mooching off of me."

Chase laughed reluctantly. "I think I've lost enough to fund lunches for both of you. I'll be stuck bringing sandwiches, though."

Wilson chuckled. "You'll get 'em next time, tiger." ("There are no tigers in Australia," House pointed out helpfully.) Ok, I'm off – Chase, you had a lot to drink, are you alright to drive home?"

Chase and House looked at each other for a long moment. There was an awkward silence. Wilson glanced from one to the other, confused. Then Chase looked away and answered haltingly, "Yeah, I'll be fine. I just need to get my shoes and stuff." He started to walk away, but then House exhaled suddenly.

"No," he said. Both Wilson and Chase looked at him, surprised. House shook his head and sighed. Then he smiled dryly at the Australian and said, "Listen, Chase, why don't you go on and get into bed? I'll be there in a minute."

"What?" coughed Wilson in disbelief, and Chase blushed beet red. House chuckled affectionately at the flustered expression on the boy's face.

"It's ok," he told him, and watched fondly as Chase went off to do what House had asked. Then, turning to the incredulous Wilson, House stated, almost as if he were daring his best friend to object, "Chase stays with me most nights."

"What? But … but," Wilson stammered. "You and Chase? Since when?"

"Since about 2 months ago."

"You're kidding."

"Nope."

"But … but …"

"But what, Jimmy?" House gazed steadily at his open-mouthed friend. "Do you have a problem with this?"

"House – he works for you," Wilson finally managed to get out. "You're old enough to be his father. And … and he's … he's a HE!"

House gasped dramatically. "Oh, my God! How could I have been so blind?" Then, seeing Wilson roll his eyes, House sighed and said, "Look, Jimmy. I'm well aware of all those things. But you know what? I don't care. I like the kid – I like him a lot. I want to be with him, and he, God knows why, wants to be with me. And, Jimmy, he makes me happy."

Wilson took in the uncharacteristically earnest expression on House's face, and something else, too: a seldom-seen, almost bashful hopefulness in his friend's blue eyes. Wilson's indignation melted. "I'm glad to see you happy, House," Wilson conceded with a smile.

Relieved, House smiled back. "You know what would make me really happy?" He jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom and winked. "If I could get in there before Blondie falls asleep."

Laughing and shaking his head in amazement, Wilson watched House go. He carried his empties into the kitchen and then decided to make a quick trip to the bathroom before driving home. As he passed House's bedroom door, he noticed that it wasn't closed all the way. Wilson couldn't help himself. Flattening himself as best he could against the wall, he peered inside.

House was standing facing the bed, his back to the door. He'd removed his shirt and his sneakers, and was wearing only his jeans. Wilson heard him let out a long, low breath as he stared at the figure in the bed. (Wilson also looked at the sleeping Chase, trying to see him as House must be seeing him.) Chase was on his side, facing the opposite wall. His naked back gleamed a pale gold in the soft glow from the night table lamp; the sheet was twisted lightly around his hips. (Was House wanting to glide his finger along the smooth, vulnerable length of the boy's spine? Wilson was sure of it.) Chase's thick blonde hair – the hair that earned him so much teasing, so much envy, and so many admiring glances – lay untidily on the pillow. (The bewitched oncologist imagined House's hands tangled among those silky strands; Wilson could almost feel the Australian's soft hair sliding through his own questing fingers, and he flexed them instinctively.)

He heard House whisper huskily, "Chase?" Silence. Then again, "Chase!" No answer. Finally, with a rueful chuckle, "Dammit." Wilson watched, enthralled, as House clumsily shed his jeans and climbed quietly into bed. He saw House gave the boy's shoulder a gentle shake. (Wilson knew that Chase's skin was like satin to the older man's touch. He sighed appreciatively.) And then Wilson's breath caught in his throat as Chase rolled on to his back, and blinked sleepily up at House. Jesus. The kid looked like pure sex: his hair was sweetly tousled, his blue-green eyes heavy-lidded and smoldering, his lazy smile languorous and promising.

"Hi, beautiful," Wilson heard House say throatily.

"Hey." Chase reached up to caress House's cheek. (Wilson felt the boy's fingers ghost along his own skin.) "Sorry I fell asleep."

"Don't worry about it. You can go back to sleep; I just wanted to tell you 'goodnight.'"

"Goodnight, House," whispered Chase ("Goodnight, James."), and, as House leaned to down to kiss his lover, Wilson heard him breathe, "Goodnight, baby" into Chase's open mouth.

IN THE CAB AGAIN

"Goodnight, baby," Wilson said, against Chase's lovely neck, before he stumbled out of the stopped cab and up the path to his home.

"Fuck off," House yelled angrily after him.

Chase couldn't suppress a laugh. "Come on, House, Wilson was totally trashed! He had no idea what he was …"

"You fuck off, too." House was too enraged to even look at Chase. The intensivist made one more try at placating him – putting his hand on House's shoulder, and saying his name – but House shrugged him off roughly, and they were both silent for the rest of the way home.

ONE MONTH AGO

It was well after office hours at PPTH, but Wilson had stayed late to finish some notes, and then, intending only to take a quick nap, had fallen into a deep sleep on his office couch. When he awoke, it was quite late, but, deciding against spending the night where he was, he began to make his way through the darkened hallways. As he passed the lab, Wilson noticed movement out of the corner of his eye, and, after a closer look, froze in his tracks. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Chase and House were in the lab, wrapped around each other, kissing ferociously. House was sitting on the counter, legs apart, with Chase straddling his good leg and grinding hard against it. His hands moved frantically under House's t-shirt, clutching his back and pulling him closer. Wilson could hear the blonde's gasping moans and House's hoarse murmurings. Wilson saw House lick at Chase's ear, heard him say,

"God, you're delicious." Then, tangling his hands in Chase's hair, House rasped, "I love your hair." The older man tongued and nipped his way up Chase's neck, and then kissed his ready mouth. "I love your neck, I love your pretty, pretty mouth."

"Do you love this?" Chase grabbed House's hand and pulled it against his crotch. "Do you?" he panted fiercely. "Do you love my hard cock?"

("Yes," thought Wilson. "Yes, we love it.")

House gasped out, "You'll see … when we get home … you'll see how I love it …"

"Ah, fuck … fuck! I love you, House. I love you," and Chase pushed wildly against House's hand. (Wilson could feel the strength of that truth as Chase revealed it; the Australian DID love them.)

IN THE CAB AGAIN

"Pay the fare, Chase. You're rich."

Chase didn't bother to argue; he handed the driver his money and watched him drive off. House was already halfway to the door. Chase said tiredly, "Greg."

Grimly: "Get inside."

"Please, don't make a …"

"Get the fuck inside."

So Chase followed House inside, his stomach in knots, his nerves on fire. He'd done nothing wrong, nothing at all, yet he felt guilty and anxious; he hated his childish fear of confrontation. He stood, wishing with all his heart that Wilson had stuck to ginger ale or taken a separate cab home, as House studied him silently. Finally, House spoke, tapping his cane rapidly against the floor, and the muscle in his jaw working furiously.

Tersely: "Is something going on between you and Wilson?"

"Jesus! Of course not!" Chase was almost in tears.

"He was all over you. Like he knew it was ok." Suddenly, for the first time since Wilson's exit from the cab, House looked directly into Chase's eyes. "He called you …" House choked on what he was about to say, grimaced, and spat out the words with exquisite disdain. "He called you his baby."

"House …"

"Are you?" House looked at the floor. "ARE you?"

Chase's heart was breaking. He threw himself at House and wrapped his arms around him tightly, laying his head against House's chest. "You can't believe that. You can't believe that," he said over and over again. "You know I love you." He looked up into House's blue eyes, praying that his lover would be able to discern the truth. And his prayers were answered.

House said slowly, "Yes. I DO know that. And I can't really believe that you'd be cheating on me with Wilson." He cocked his head – even in this state, House was unable to resist the lure of a puzzle. "In fact, I don't believe that Wilson would do that to me, either." He paused. "You weren't with him before me, were you?"

"No, never!" Chase, relieved, kissed House's mouth. "House, listen – Wilson was very drunk, very horny, and I guess he happens to like blondes!" He kissed House's ear, dipped his tongue inside.

House felt his stomach muscles clench with want. He took Chase's face between his hands. "YOU," he said pointedly, "are MY blonde."

Chase, laughing and nuzzling House's neck, said, "And?"

"And?"

"And whose baby?"

House laughed quietly. "Mine," he said, closing his eyes and pulling Chase even closer. "Only mine."

WILSON AT HOME

("Yes. Ours.")


End file.
